Assassin's Honor (21 page)

           
She stepped deeper into the room, eager to learn more about this enigmatic man who intimidated and enthralled her in one breath. Bookcases lined two walls of the room, their crown molding marked with detailed scrollwork. The pattern struck her as familiar, but she gave it only a brief glance before gliding her fingers over the spines of the shelved books. Texts on the Roman Empire, Egypt, and Greece filled the shelves, along with classics by Dickens, Twain, and others. Several books looked old enough to be first editions.

           
In between the two bookcases, a filler panel held a sword mounted on a wood plaque with a faint circular pattern etched into the polished wood. Opposite the bookshelves she saw an end table loaded with a stack of books next to a large recliner. He liked to read with his feet up. She bit back a smile. Somehow it was difficult to picture Ares as a man lounging in a recliner.

           
The framed photographs on the credenza prompted her to venture behind the desk. They were the type of pictures most people liked to display. She picked up a photo of a young boy with his family. From the blond hair and the mischievous grin on the boy's face, she was certain it was Ares with his sister and parents. Another picture with him and Phae was more recent. The last photo was of Ares with an older man in martial arts apparel.

           
Setting the photographs back in place, she glanced over at the wall and a large diploma. She moved closer to read the document and her eyes widened.
Newcastle University.
Great Britain's premier school for Roman and Byzantine archeology studies.
No wonder he recognized the Sicari icon last night. That was odd. With a frown, she leaned forward and ran her fingertip over the raised pattern carved into the diploma's wood frame. For a moment, she wasn't really sure what she was looking at.

           
A second later, she sucked in a sharp breath--a sword intertwined with a chakram. Her stomach lurched. With a jerk, she turned her head toward the sword on the wall.
A chakram.
The circular impression behind the sword was a chakram. Her gaze flew up to the crown molding on the bookcases. The Sicari icon lay on its side in a repetitive pattern along the decorative wood facing.

           
Telekinesis.
Swords.
Sicari icons.

           
What the hell was going on here? She stumbled backward away from the diploma and hit her leg on the desk. A grunt of pain escaped her lips as the pointed corner of the furniture dug into her flesh. Her attempt to regain her balance caused her to knock over a stack of files, which she quickly put to rights. She was about to turn away when a file in the middle of the desk blotter caught her eye. Tilting her head slightly, she read the name on the file tab again.

           
Puzzled, she picked up the brown tabbed folder labeled MICHAEL GRANBY. The first page was a listing of her friend's general bio and work history. She flipped the page to study the next sheet of information. A chill swept across her skin as she scanned the document. It was a detailed summary of Mike's activities over the past year. The sheet listed a number of names and places she recognized, including Ewan's name, hers, and even Roberta's.

           
What the hell was Ares doing with a file on Mike? Dropping the folder back onto the desk, she saw Ewan's name on a folder. She quickly picked up the file folder and flipped through it. The information inside was dated back more than five years before her parents' death. The icy sensation covering her skin made her shiver as she sifted through the files beneath Mike and Ewan's. She recognized names of other Institute staff on most of the files. Her hands shaking, she reached for the largest file on the desk.

           
She opened her own folder, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. The thick stack of detailed pages in the file horrified her. It documented whom she'd interacted with, where she'd gone, dates, times--the last six or seven years of her life spread out over forty or more pages.
Even minor observations about her relationship with Jonathan.

           
"I see you've found your file."

           
The quiet words made her jump, and she jerked her head up to see Ares watching her with a guarded expression. The T-shirt and boxer shorts from this morning were gone. In their place was an expensive-looking navy blue business suit. He looked liked he'd just stepped off a fashion runway. Infuriated that she'd even noticed how good he looked in a suit, she used all her strength to fling her dossier at him. He didn't flinch. Instead, he flicked his wrist and the folder stopped in midair before floating neatly down to the desk. Anger had conquered her fear for the moment, and her humiliation fueled her outrage.

           
"Who the hell do you think you are?" she said between clenched teeth and braced her hands on the desktop in an effort to stop them from shaking so badly.

           
"I know you're upset, but if you'll give me a chance, I can explain everything." Ares's voice was calm and soothing, but she didn't want to be soothed.

           
"Explain what? That you like to spy on people? That you've got an obsession with an ancient group of assassins?" She nodded her head at him as surprise flashed across his face and waved her hand at the bookcases and the diploma. "Oh yeah, I saw the Sicari icon splattered all over the place. You like to break into people's houses and steal their possessions. What am I leaving out?"

           
"You forgot saving your life." His tersely spoken sentence infuriated her more.

           
"Don't you dare try to weasel your way out of this by playing the 'rescue the damsel in distress'
card.
"

           
"I'm not trying to weasel my way out of anything," he growled. "What I am trying to do is explain."

           
"You can't possibly begin to explain spying on me."

           
"It was necessary."

           
"Necessary? The only time something like this"--with a sound of disgust, she pointed to the file he'd returned to the desk--"is necessary is in criminal cases. I'm not a criminal."

           
"I won't apologize for protecting my people, Emma." His penetrating gaze locked with hers. "Especially not when I lose a good man like the one I did last night."

           
"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

           
"Exactly what I said.
One of my men died last night."

           
The quiet words stunned her and she stared at him, not sure what to believe or even think. He made it sound as if he was the leader of a group of warriors. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. Oh no, she was so not going there. She refused to even contemplate what something deep inside her said was coming. Ares folded his arms across his chest and drew in a deep breath.

           
"How much do you know about the Sicari, Emma?"

           
She eyed him with suspicion, trying to reignite the anger that had evaporated like a morning mist. "Why don't you tell me since you've been spying on me for so long?"

           
"Do you know as much as your father?" he asked quietly. The question caught her off guard and she shook her head.

           
"Don't you dare bring my father into
this.
" She glared at him, all too aware she was suddenly on the verge of tears. Damn him.

           
"So you don't know that much then." There was just a hint of provocation in his eyes as he met her gaze.

           
"All I know are the basics. My knowledge of the Sicari is superficial compared to what my father knew. Even Charlie could run circles around me on the subject. I chose to specialize in other areas, because"--her voice broke slightly--"because I thought my parents were chasing a myth."

           
"You surprise me, Emma. You make it sound like you know nothing at all about the Sicari."

           
He sent her a piercing look. Even in a business suit he still had that predator air about him. And like a predator, he was toying with her. She flung her hands up in the air in a sarcastic gesture.

           
"Okay.
Fine.
I'll play this little game of yours. The Sicari were part of Ptolemy's personal guard. Later they were part of Rome's Praetorian Guard, which served as the personal bodyguard of the Caesars. Sometime during Constantine's rule, a power struggle split the Guard in two. The result was the persecution of the Sicari and their families. The ones who escaped became assassins to survive, thus their Latin name. Satisfied?"

           
The brief history lesson finished, she sent him a contemptuous look. What did he expect? She had not been lying when she said she didn't have the knowledge her father had. The only reason people considered her an expert on the Sicari was because she was David Zale's daughter.

           
Despite thoughts to the contrary, she knew very little about the Sicari. It had never been her field of expertise. Not even the childhood stories she vaguely remembered her father telling her were of much help. Stories weren't the same as detailed research and study. Hell, she'd be lucky if she even could remember some of those tall tales.
Although now she was beginning to wonder if they were all that tall.

           
The calculating look on his face made her clench her teeth with anger. None of this had anything to do with why he'd been spying on her. It was simply a way to distract her. With a frustrated shake of her head, she blew out a harsh sigh. The sound made his eyes narrow, but she refused to be cowered and she glared at him with defiance. He frowned.

           
"When did your father tell you the Sicari Order was abandoned?" His question was straightforward, but the dark note in his voice made the hair on her arms stand on end. Worse, the grim look on his features made her pulse flutter with fear. She shook her head, knowing in her heart what he was trying to tell her.

           
"This is ridiculous. You spy on me, and then you try to dodge the issue

by
--"

           
"Answer me. When did your father believe the Order died out?" The harsh words sent dread creeping along every nerve ending under her skin.

           
"He thought they were still in existence," she snapped fiercely. "And don't you dare try to tell me the Order still exists and how you're some kind of immortal."

           
"I'm not immortal." There was just a glimmer of wry amusement in his deep blue gaze.

           
"But you are saying you're a Sicari." She glared at him.
The bastard.
He really thought she was going to believe him. Didn't she? She ignored the whisper in the back of her head as she met his gaze.

           
"Yes."

           
The simplicity of his quiet response did more to rattle her than anything else he could have said. A shudder ripped through her and she clutched the edge of the desk in an effort to steady herself. She didn't know whether to feel elated or terrified.

           
The Sicari earned their living by assassination, and Ares clearly had a great deal of money. What did one get for offing somebody these days? She swallowed hard as she struggled to grasp the magnitude of what he was really saying with that simple yes of his. The files, his Italian patrician looks, the swords, the hybrid mix of Latin and Italian speech, his extraordinary powers.

           
All of it added up and yet she didn't want to believe it. It tossed her normal, sedate world topsy-turvy. Oh God, had he been responsible for her parents' death?
Charlie's?
She shuddered. The coin hadn't shown her anything about her parents. But that didn't mean he wasn't involved.

           
"I can't do this." With a shake of her head, she waved her hand at the files and the room. "I don't want to do this. I just want to go home."

           
"
Don't be a fool
," he snapped. "You'd be dead in less than a week if you go home."

           
"You don't know that." She slammed her fist against the desktop.

           
Anger replaced his calm demeanor until his mouth thinned to a harsh, unforgiving line. Trepidation made her stiffen the instant he walked toward the desk, a restrained fury hardening his features. With a vicious gesture, he pulled a file out of the in-box on the corner of the desk. An instant later, he tossed a black-and-white photo down in front of her.

           
"I do know what I'm talking about, Emma. If I let you go home, you'll most likely end up like this poor bastard. Praetorians don't discriminate based on gender."

           
Her eyes left his face as she looked down at the picture he'd thrown onto the desk. At first she wasn't sure what she was looking at. It looked like one of those medical figures with the skin missing to reveal nothing but the muscle beneath. Then the reality of it sank in, and she sucked in a sharp breath of horror.